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“Glory to our heroes of the faith!” Proclaimed a Troubadour from the church’s army. “A great hammer against apostasy!”
Jorge’s party stood in a row before lines of fiercely loyal church soldiers.
“These newly-minted faithful, who started their pilgrimages this very year, were the rearguard that prevented apostate forces from retreating!”
A Paladin from General Perarde’s inner circle marched up and presented the journeyman party with medals proving their loyalty to the church.
“It was just a group of fleeing civilians…” Isaac said after a time.
The knight handed him a medal all the same.
“Soldiers against corruption! Let none escape unpunished!” yelled the crowd.
“So many children. Mothers.” Sarah hunched over, deflated. “Just trying to get out.”
“Doing your duty under the Menu! Protecting the sanctity of the System and its Interface!”
Calaf observed the awards ceremony from a tree at the edge of the now-smoldering battlefield.
“Just like the heroes of old!” cried the crowd.
But the party had run through defenseless civilians. They were no heroes. Not like those from the stories of saints, valiantly defending the faith.
“Just like the saints,” bellowed the crowd of soldiers in unison.
“But this was not the action of saints,” Sarah mouthed from the presentation stage. “They were champions of justice. Bulwarks against corruption. Not… Not…”
Sarah and Calaf seemed to have a revelation at the same time.
For if these murders of fleeing families were smiled upon by the church, and they were comparable to the saints of old, then those saints were no bulwarks against corruption. They were…
“Hail soldiers of the faith! Slayers of heretics! May they be a shining example to all who walk the pilgrimage path!”
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Calaf walked through the woods alone. No sign or reports indicated that Jelena had been killed or captured, or even seen fleeing the battle. With Enkidu there, she was hardly in danger. Together they could keep Zilara away from church hands. Though to what ends, none could say.
He would have to find Karol. Before she hurt herself, or anyone else. With his poor tracking skills, that would be easier said than done. But Calaf had his suspicions that she’d try to return to the person who handed her these nihilberries.
The squire headed south, ignoring all further work to be done amidst the ruins of Fort Duran. Bodies of the slain on both sides needed to be conflagrated, but that was the work of Battlemages. Healing was the purview of Clerics. The Paladins (and their lower-ranked cousins) were defenders and fighters. Their job was done. So, Calaf headed south along the pilgrimage route.
Get to Riverglen. Hopefully, find Karol along the route and find out exactly what happened. Such was the plan.
Along the way though, Calaf happened upon a most grizzly scene.
Two mighty stakes were bored into a rocky outcropping with a good view of Autumn’s Redoubt, the ruins of Fort Duran, and the desert far to the south. There, standing around these stakes, were the Arbiters of the faith.
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General Perarde with his retinue of unquestionably loyal Paladins.
Baldr, or whoever he truly was, slouching against a rock cockily.
Walter, staring about aloofly.
And Klavier, strumming his Ruan, singing out a mocking tune.
There, tied to the largest stake, was Joan.
A church Cleric in high standing held aloft the branding iron. At Perarde’s instruction, this cleric Branded another limb on the fallen Paladin’s body. There were already five Brands. More than one was redundant.
“The better to ensure you can meet your beloved when the blessed reunion arrives!” japed a Paladin, to uproarious laughter from the unit.
Cayo’s corpse was tied to the other stake. At -4 HP, he’d been successfully consecrated for promised resurrection. Only, they’d gone and branded his corpse from every conceivable angle.
With each torture, Joan’s already perilous HP dropped. As it neared zero, clerics waiting in the wings would heal her about halfway, and then the ritual would begin again.
Calaf averted his eyes from the scene. It was right by the roadside, impossible to miss. They’d be impaled here until the next pilgrimage season. A grim message and warning for all to see.
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“Ahem. May I have my snail back?”
The voice came from directly behind Calaf. Baldr was there. His fingers were back, healed as if they’d never been severed. Possible with clerical healing, or perhaps there was some other force at work.
Baldr opened the trading interface expectantly. Wordlessly, Calaf handed back the Porcelain Snail of One-Way Audio.
“Cheers.” Baldr performed a joyless smile, then walked away.
Not for the first time Calaf was glad that man was face blind.
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“Sir.” Calaf approached Sir Perarde during a lull in the torture ceremony.
“Why if it isn’t that aspiring Squire,” said Perarde. “The man of the hour. We owe you a great deal.”
Calaf did not say thank you.
“Chivalry. What does it mean? The code of honor. What responsibilities does it give you to defeated enemies?”
For the first time in Calaf’s presence, the old General’s stone walled façade broke, and he let out a chuckle.
“Why, the code of chivalry is a call to honor and duty that binds us all. For instance, take your defeated enemies. A good knight should always be aware of his power and limitations. A Paladin with a palatial estate and holdings can take his bested enemies as slaves. But if you don’t have those resources? Why, simply slaying them outright is the just and honorable position.”
The Paladins among the General’s personal honor guard cheered.
“Yes! What an honorable outlook!”
“To only take battle-slaves you can afford to support. What chivalry!”
“A beacon of justice and righteousness for the Church! An example for all church faithful to follow!”
Calaf could get no further word in over the Paladins congratulating their senior over his peerless sense of honor.
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The torturers took a break, venturing off to the far side of the roadway for another self-congratulatory award ceremony.
Calaf was free to approach the stakes. He examined Joan, with her HP kept as low as possible but purposefully maintained above zero. So broken was her body and deep was her shock that she did not notice his approach, instead staring only at the fallen, strung-up Cayo.
The Squire pulled out the Wild Riverglen Nihilberries. There were enough here to slay two fully-leveled men. Furtively, he gave one dose to Joan via his Interface. He then walked over to Cayo, whose corpse was maintained at a consecrated -4 hit points. Calaf applied the poison to this corpse as well. The Interface did the trick, but placing the berries in the dead Bishop’s mouth would work all the same.
“I’m sorry.” Calaf turned and walked away. “I’m sorry…”
Poison would take effect. Hit Points would drop steadily, and the couple would decay beyond the point where they could be consecrated for later resurrection and torture in the church’s promised golden age. They would die a final death together. In doing so, they would be free from the inquisitor’s brand, the jeering soldiers, the mocking bard’s insulting lyrics, and Perarde’s ever-so-slight smirk.
Calaf walked with his head down. He traveled south, still hoping to find some sign of Karol along the long road home. Clouds loomed ahead, indicating moisture condensing as they passed the desert and neared the autumnal highlands. It would be raining soon.
“I’m sorry…”
None were around to hear his apology.
After a few minutes, with the rock outcropping and the fort and all the smoke and blood well behind him, Calaf received a System pop-up…
Level up!
Calaf Leveled Up! Level 41
Strength: 44 (+1)
Endurance: 62 (+1)
Agility: 28
Intelligence: 25
Charisma: 21
Arcane: 9
Luck: 33
The experience from the kill. Slaying someone of such a higher level, even like that, was valid. And the level delta granted a truly exorbitant amount of XP. He’d been fighting lower levels so much that he didn’t realize he hadn’t been getting more than a pittance back in the hinterlands.
“I’m…”
The first droplets of rain bounced off the forest’s lush canopy.
Without a word, Calaf began to sob.
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